


Unfinished Business

by girahimu_sama



Series: Unfinished Business-verse [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: DSOD spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girahimu_sama/pseuds/girahimu_sama
Summary: Closure - he wanted that, didn't he? In theory, the matter seemed so much simpler. In practice, it was a monster of a thing, complex and twisting in his chest.He couldn't define what they were, but perhaps that wasn't important now. What was important was how he felt. Friend or acquaintance, enemy or ally, he'd understood Bakura, and Bakura had understood him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this fic has SPOILERS for the ending of Dark Side of Dimensions. If you don't want to know what happens in the ending, I wouldn't suggest reading this fic. If you don't care like me and spoiled the whole thing for yourself, go right ahead. Disclaimer: I haven't actually seen the movie yet, only read summaries. I believe this is still accurate and compliant to DSOD canon but I might have to tweak a few things when I do actually watch the movie.
> 
> Also, I'm unsure of if I want to add more onto this. That's why it's listed as a multichap for now. I have a second part drafted but I might turn it into its own fic. Guess we'll see. 
> 
> (EDIT: Nope, the second part is a monstrosity of its own that I feel should be separate from this work. So, it will be up whenever I write it lol)
> 
> I sure do love exploiting the hell out of a certain Plot Device that gets introduced in the new movie. Anyways, here's Malik being emo or whatever.

Malik wasn't sure what he was looking for, or if he even wanted to find it.

 

The village was busy, and yet it was the most hollow thing Malik had ever seen. It was inhabited by archeologists, residents – and if he squinted he could even make out children playing in a distant road. The desert stretched before him, the sun at his neck. He wouldn’t approach to speak with anyone, his hip comfortably leaned against the bike parked at the side of the desert road.

 

None of it meant anything to him. There may as well have been no village to begin with, foundations worn and crumbled long ago. Dead and buried. It was almost insulting looking at the rebuilt, repopulated thing it had become. And yet, he'd been watching it since sunrise.

 

If it was home once to someone like the spirit, it wasn't anymore.

 

It was always the same. An uncanny shiver would crawl over him and he'd look up expectantly. Maybe he’d catch a snap of white hair fluttering in the wind, or a sardonic comment cast in his direction. It was like waiting for a rainbow to appear in a place rain never fell. A stupid whim. Unfathomably stupid.

 

But he had all the freedom in the world to be stupid, he supposed.

 

There was nothing stopping him from leaving Egypt. He could run off to France, or America, see all of what he never could as a child,

 

Or he could sit in the sand and hope for something that would never arrive. A sign. A ghost. A disembodied spirit telling him to fuck off and get on with his life.

 

He wanted that, didn’t he? Closure, in some form or another. In theory, the matter seemed so much simpler. In practice, it was a monster of a thing, complex and twisting in his chest.

 

He’d won his freedom. The King was dead, carried to the light of the fields.

 

He’d won his freedom. The past scraped at him, sometimes returning bit by bit, sometimes all at once. Burning and fierce, fire crawling up his back to lick at his scars – his brand. Voices screamed in the night, laughed hauntingly, both his and not his. The dynasty could crumble, the King could turn to dust, and the weight of it all still rested on his shoulders.

 

He’d won his freedom. Bakura was dead. Not peacefully – never peacefully. He’d said so himself.

 

None of it felt right.

 

As always, Malik lingered until he found he couldn't stand the sight any longer. He twisted the key in the ignition of his bike, lungs feeling compressed with a weight far more heavy than dust and sand.

 

It wasn’t the last time he’d visit Dier el-Medina.

 

...

 

Bakura's eyes snapped open the instant the gold was laid beside his head on the pillow.

 

“You!” He was up on his feet like he'd never been blown away by Osiris, an angry recognition flashing in his eyes. A ragged sigh left Malik, pitching high and foreign from Anzu's mouth. Of course Bakura would be pissed. Why wouldn't he be pissed after the previous fiasco?  
  
“Bakura, there's not much time-”

 

“The hell there isn't.” The spirit was growling in his face, eyes seeing right through the disguise he wore. It was as if Anzu didn't exist at all. Then again, Bakura must have been familiar enough with the whole business not to be tricked by appearances. “You better hand over your Rod right now for all the shit I've done for you.”

 

Malik took a step back, mouth pulling in a grimace.

 

“I... can't.”

 

Bakura's face fell flat, tone try and dead as he reiterated, “You can't.”

 

Malik cringed, already knowing how the spirit would take this. If he had more options, he would have asked for help elsewhere. “Look, I need you to do something for me, and then I swear I'll-”

 

Cutting him off for the second time, Bakura's sharp bark of laughter filled the room. “Ha! You really have some nerve coming to me for yet another favour. I've already done more than I've bargained for.”

 

“Just listen to me!” Malik's voice edged higher. He must have sounded really desperate because Bakura actually looked surprised for a split second. It must have been satisfying for him, seeing the prideful Ishtar that had been stringing him along this far into the tournament so rattled, but Malik didn't have the energy to be bitter about it. There were more important things at stake. “If you give me a moment, I'll explain everything.”

 

Bakura's narrowed eyes were accompanied by a suspicious cock of the head. “Go on.”

 

Malik shot him a withering look. He really didn't want to sit here and relay the whole story to the spirit, especially not after watching his sister lay it bare before everyone's eyes on this damn aircraft. Still, it wasn't like he had much of a choice. What did he have to lose at this point – aside from Rishid's life?

 

“My body was hijacked and I no longer have possession of the Rod. If I don't act quickly, my brother will be-”

 

Bakura cut him off yet again, holding his arms up in a halting gesture. “Wait, wait, wait, your body was _hijacked?_ By who?”

 

Malik bit back the urge to snap at him. Starting another argument right here was sure to drain away more precious time. What if his other half had already reached Rishid? His stomach gave a painful twist.

 

“It's a long story. I come from a clan of tombkeepers destined to guard the Pharaoh's secret. During the initation I was meant to recieve, I...” The next words were pulled from between his teeth. “I broke. Another personality spawned from my mind, and that personality has taken control of my body now.”

 

“Ritual?” Bakura tilted his head. Malik suspected he was just out to make things more difficult for him, but the spirit's expression remained steely – even interested. Bakura's mouth pressed into a thin line, no hint of a smirk to be found.

 

“The Pharaoh's secret – his memories – were carved into my back. It's meant to be the rite of passage for the clan heirs.”

 

Bakura still looked like he was considering Malik's words, rolling them over in his mouth and tasting them. Malik's hands – Anzu's hands, rather – clenched into fists. Was he looking for begging? Was that what he wanted out of him?

 

“I'll do anything if you'll help me.” It wasn't quite a plea but it was still pathetic. Malik didn't care. He didn't have the time to. He'd sink as low as he could if it meant he had the chance to save Rishid. “My darker personality is out to kill my brother and I can't let that happen!”

 

Silence. It was almost worse than a 'no'. Bakura's eyes glanced off Malik as though he weren't even there, far away in contemplation. In another world. The expression on his face was something far deeper than Malik ever expected to see from him. Dark and unreadable – and angry. Not the blistering hot, volatile anger Bakura had displayed thus far, but something cold and dead.

 

And personal.

 

If Malik weren't so pressed at the time, he might have lingered on it.

 

“Well?!”

 

Bakura said nothing to his outburst. He merely turned and picked up the Ring, placing it back around his neck before answering. “I don't usually do charity cases but I suppose I'll make an exception for you.”

 

Malik released a breath, beyond relieved. Gradually, he allowed the part of his soul still embedded into Bakura to become active again, consciousness trickling away from Anzu. She slumped over onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

“A ritual to hold the Pharaoh's memories, huh?” Bakura mused lowly, stepping around the girl's body. Malik's spirit drifted close to him, throwing him an odd look, but Bakura had already snapped out of his lapse.

 

“Come on, Malik, I thought you were in a hurry. Tell me where your other personality is so I can get this over with, before I change my mind.”

...

 

Bakura had a very strange way of going about getting what he wanted, and an even stranger way of settling his debts.

 

Malik weaved his way out of the club and into the streets of Luxor, waving cigarette smoke from his face with a dry snort. He didn't know why he bothered. At least mingling with the crowds took off some of the restless edge, even if it bored him to pieces in the process. He'd get home well past midnight, hardly something Isis would approve of, but at least he wasn't crashing tournaments and playing with people's minds anymore.

 

A droplet splashing across his nose caused him to look up, scowling when it was accompanied by another, and another. The rainfall was light, but it would still reduce his hair to a flat, sopping mess by thr time he got home. How unlucky.

 

It wasn't the only misfortune he'd have tonight.

 

“Been a while eh, Malik?” A voice drifted out of the shadows at his side, filling up the space of the alley and forcing him to a startled halt. It was immediately recognizable, given he'd shared headspace with the bastard. In fact, it was hard to forget.

 

“B-Bakura!?” Malik jolted to face the source of the voice, all the gears in his mind stuttering as he processed what was happening. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
The man stepped out into the pale lighting, and Malik had to raise a brow at the change in getup. The edges of the black coat trailed just above the ground, the harsh shade bringing out the ghastly tones in Ryou's skin. But he never once mistook the man for Ryou.

 

“Oh, just in the neighbourhood.” Bullshit. He wouldn't have travelled to Egypt if that were the case. Bakura's grin was tight and dangerous, a coil about to spring. He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out the Millennium Ring, holding it against his lips. “But now that I'm here, I think we should have a little talk...”

 

Malik kept his face neutral, even as his hand automatically flew to the back of his belt, grasping at empty space where the Rod should have been. “Talk?”  
  
“There's a certain matter we have to discuss.” It wasn't hard to tell that Bakura was pissed, and Malik had no way of defending himself. If he wasn't careful, this could turn out badly for him. All at once, Bakura's visage began to crack, anger bleeding through. “You handed the Pharaoh the Items, just like that! You surrendered, you bastard!”

 

“I had no choice.” Malik's tone was cool even in the face of someone who could tear him apart with a thought. “What does this have to do with you?”  
  
“Had no-?!” Bakura's eyes widened incredulously, and then they narrowed as he stormed up to him. “We had an agreement! One that I'm still waiting on.”

 

So _that_ was what this was about? Malik figured as much, but it hardly changed his outlook on the situation at all. Bakura had wasted his time coming here. “The deal was if you beat my other personality, I'd give you the Rod and the Pharaoh's secret. You lost.”  
  
Bakura was neither satisfied nor impressed by the answer. “Actually, the original deal was I help you infiltrate Yugi's group for the Rod, but you stiffed me on that.” He jabbed a finger in Malik's direction. “Who demanded I ditch the hospital and join Kaiba's stupid tournament? Who came crawling back to me once he lost control to his other self? You owe me, Malik!”

 

Malik bristled. “It's not like I forced you to keep doing what I asked!”  
  
“It doesn't matter. I expect payment – and some interest.” Bakura's eyes narrowed, that same wounded sort of anger stirring within them. “I saw you roll over for the Pharaoh like a dog begging for scraps! What the hell was that all about?”  
  
Malik's fists clenched at his sides. A dog begging for scraps? He would have hit Bakura for that remark if the other man didn't have the powers of darkness on his side. “He spared my life after my sister begged him to. The battle was over at that point. What else was I supposed to do?!”  
  
“How gracious of him.” Bakura spat the words out like they were something revolting. “You could have done anything else! When I first met you, you looked ready to tear him apart piece by piece! All that fire just vanishes because you lost to him in a duel? You were practically kissing his feet!”

 

Malik's eyes widened, so furious he was shocked. Bakura had no idea what he was talking about. “Let's get one thing straight! I would never kiss the feet of that bastard! Don't think for a second I would forgive him for the suffering my clan has endured!” Malik's voice had risen to a shout, deflating the next moment. “But the sooner he regains his memories, the sooner he will leave this world. Then, and only then, is my duty as a tombkeeper complete.”

 

“Like that's any better. You'd only be helping him along to a paradise he doesn't deserve.” Bakura scoffed, shaking his head, a boiling rage having settled beneath his skin. “You'll hiss and yell at me, but you won't direct your anger where it rightfully belongs? You're spineless!”

 

Malik actually did hit him this time, Millennium Ring be damned. A dark satisfaction coursed though him when Bakura dropped to the ground, blood burning in his veins.

 

“Fuck you! You have no idea what I went through after you were knocked out!” If Bakura thought he could mouth off to him and get away with it, he had another thing coming.

 

“My other personality faced off against the Pharaoh, only he offered me up as a sacrifice to the darkness. The same went for Yugi and the Pharaoh. As we lost life points, our bodies would disappear as well!” He continued to yell, watching as the other climbed back to his feet. He didn't care that Bakura could turn the Ring's power on him at any moment. The bastard needed to have some sense knocked into him.

 

“I only barely managed to regain control in time! Fucking hell, I was exhausted at that point! I couldn't have continued fighting against the Pharaoh even if I wanted to!”

 

And he didn't see a point to it. All things considered, it was a truce that lay between him and the Pharaoh now. A truce that didn't sit the best with him at times, but all he had to do was endure it until the time the Pharaoh's soul left this world.

 

Bakura pushed himself up, but he didn't look angry anymore. In fact, he was smirking like he knew something Malik didn't, like he was satisfied with Malik's response. A low chuckle spilled from him, tumbling and rolling until it filled up the alleyway.

 

“Exhausted eh?” The spirit's expression fell back into an unimpressed glower. “Afraid I'm not sympathetic.”

 

Malik silently glared back at him. Bakura looked exhausted too, the tired, vindictive, hateful sort. Malik had to wonder how long he'd been at this. It wasn't the first time he'd been curious about his motives. One thing was clear, however; Bakura wasn't going to give up.

 

“What do you want from me, Bakura? I can't give you the Rod because I don't have it anymore.” Malik spoke again, quieter this time. “And I know you've seen my back already.”

 

“Shame, isn't it?” Bakura's tone shifted into something more manipulative, causing Malik's eyes to narrow. “You know... my way of doing things guarantees the Pharaoh's soul will be plunged into eternal darkness. For putting you through everything, I would have expected more from you...” He shrugged, placing his hands inside of the pockets of his coat and making like he was going to leave. “But, by all means, if you're content with waiting around until he dies, don't let me intrude.”

 

Malik's fists clenched at his sides. He wasn't content. He hadn't been content since the end of Battle City. Beginning anew was so much harder in practice than it was in theory. Isis and Rishid made it seem so easy. Even now, Malik's scars burned with the anger and grief and guilt that had made a home in his skin. He hadn't realized just how much his other personality had acted as a buffer, and with his other heart gone there was truly nothing standing in the way of everything he'd suppressed.

 

Perhaps that was why he found himself wandering places like these, scraping dangerously close to trouble. At least the scene was familiar.

 

He wasn't content, and Bakura must have known that. The bastard. Malik sighed, briefly glancing to the wall of the alleyway. It wasn't like he directly had to go against the Pharaoh again. No, he could assist Bakura in secret without tipping the rest of them off about it.

 

“What would you have me do?”

 

Bakura grinned wickedly, unrestrained, and Malik hated that the sight made him shiver – and not with revulsion. “When the time comes, I'll need to retrieve the Items again...” The spirit tilted his head, waiting for the answer he knew would come. “Well...?”

 

Malik closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again they seemed to pierce through Bakura.

 

“I'll help you.”

 

...

 

“Malik?”

 

Rishid's voice filtered into the entryway. Malik sighed as he closed the front door, letting his helmet rest on the nearby table.

 

“Hey, Rishid,” he greeted as he walked into the kitchen. “Sorry, I just went out for a morning drive.”

 

“I made lunch if you wanted some.” His brother nodded towards the counter as he cleaned his own dish in the sink. “Coffee's in the pot as well.”  
  
“Thanks.” Malik skipped straight to the coffee, midway through his first sip when he felt it. “... You know, I really can't take you and Isis looking at me like that.”

 

“It's been months...” Rishid said. “I don't want to press. I know the both of us... all three of us. What we went through was unbearable, but just know I'm always here if you want to talk.”  
  
“It's not about the tombs.”

 

Rishid stared at him for a long while, and Malik knew he couldn't truly hide anything from him. “You know I won't judge you for anything – can't judge you for anything.” He sighed. “You should talk about it. It may help.”

 

Malik set his mug down at the table, moving to sit across from his brother.

 

“It wasn't fair what happened to him. None of it was fair, Rishid,” he spoke after a long pause. “He was an asshole. He did bad things, and I'm not trying to make excuses for him but it's not right.” Malik's hands tightened around ceramic. He knew what Bakura had been aiming for, but even so, it wasn't like he'd succeeded. It wasn't like Malik hadn't done awful things in his lifetime, but he got to live and Bakura didn't. He had to wonder if, under the right circumstances, he would have been pushed to such extremes as well. “No one knew him like I did, and now he's just...”

 

Empty space filled the conversation. Pervasive, ever present emptiness like what Malik had been feeling the past several months.

 

There was no telling if Rishid even knew what he was talking about, but his brother answered regardless. “He may have passed into the fields. He could be at rest.”

 

“Do you honestly believe that?” Because Malik didn't. Not for one moment. “Don't say things to try and placate me, Rishid.”

 

Rishid's expression was patient, but firm. “Then I won't. You can't let your mind linger on him, Malik. Bakura has been dead from the start.”

 

Malik's fingers twitched against the mug, something about hearing Bakura's name spoken out loud jarring him. So Rishid had known. He could never underestimate his brother's perceptiveness. Malik took a moment to collect himself, breathing in, then out.

 

“I know that, and I know it's stupid but I...” Malik stared at the table as he spoke. “I miss him.”  
  
He felt idiotic long after he said it. Rishid's eyes were on him and he couldn't blame his brother for passing judgement even if he said he wouldn't. If not judgement, then pity.

 

Did he truly miss Bakura? Given his behaviour, that would be the logical conclusion, wouldn't it? He'd always assumed it was something more along the lines of Bakura's death – no, his entire existence got under his skin in a way he couldn't explain. It was deep. It was anger. It was sheer fury at the injustice the spirit had endured, lived, become.

 

It was an existence he was all too familiar with.

 

But missing him? That would have implied they were friends – more than friends, even. What else could they have been called?

 

Acquaintances? In hindsight, he hadn't known the spirit for very long. A matter of weeks, in fact. But it had felt longer. So much longer. Whenever he looked at Bakura he saw something ancient and powerful, yet human and unstable. Something that broke every natural law and demanded the order follow a new set of rules. What was time to an ageless spirit? And yet, Bakura never seemed to have enough of it.

 

Enemies on friendly terms? It applied, technically. Tombkeeper and thief were at odds by nature, but Malik hardly remained loyal to the customs imposed onto him. They'd worked together more than once after all.

 

He couldn't define what they were, but perhaps that wasn't important now. What was important was how he felt. Friend or acquaintance, enemy or ally, he'd understood Bakura, and Bakura had understood him.

 

And with him gone, it felt like a hole had been punched into his chest. Nothing could fill it in quite the same way as the spirit's presence. Malik took a deep breath and then released it, the ache in his lungs never having been quite so pronounced before.

 

Rishid stood up to bring his dishes to the sink, voice bringing Malik back from his thoughts. His brother's gaze was pensive and understanding, as it always had been.

 

“I know.”

 

...

 

Malik didn't drink but he brought a bottle of Schnapps anyway. Perhaps it was some strategic attempt at loosening the other man's lips – obvious maybe, but if Bakura noticed, he didn't say anything about it. The spirit gladly accepted the bottle as it was passed to him, taking drag after drag from the liqour. It was just a way to pass the time. After all, there wasn't much they could truly do but bide their time until Yugi's group returned from America.

 

“View hasn't changed in three thousand years.” Bakura grunted, nodding his head consideringly at the expanse of city and sky before him. “Well, the air is dirtier now. Everything's too bright.”  
  
Malik's brows climbed at the claim. Perhaps he really was getting somewhere after all. He couldn't help but be curious. Hate and anger and cold dead fury and all the things Bakura seemed to be made of didn't just spawn from no where, after all. He knew that better than anyone. “Do you remember much about your past life?”

 

“I remember enough.” Bakura shifted in place where he sat, almost looking uncomfortable. “I suppose things in general haven't changed, just evolved. Strip away the outer layer and you're left with the base foundation. People for example,” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “dress different, look different, use different tools, but ultimately they act the same. Shamble around. Go about their business. Pretend their individual lives are larger than they think. Nothing special about them. Just cattle in a herd.”

 

Malik snorted, tipping the bottle back and letting the alcohol burn in his throat. “Didn't expect you to get so philosophical.”

 

Even the rooftop seemed far too small for Bakura's laughter. “Don't pretend you haven't thought about it, Mr. I want to be a God,”  
  
Any other time and Malik would have been irked, but he was too intrigued watching Bakura like this. His own mind was easy and slow; perhaps he was falling into his own trap. “Thought about what? People?”

 

“Everything.” Bakura was silent for a long moment. “Then again I suppose it doesn't matter. You won't be around to see the next era of changing-unchanging, will you?” Malik suspected it was supposed to be a jab, but he was too dulled to care. “And, if all goes well, neither will I...”

 

Malik passed the bottle, something unsettling him about the words. “Do you intend to go to the fields?”

 

Bakura burst into a round of laughter, working to calm himself before he took another drink.“Are you shitting me? You really think my path will take me to heaven?”

 

No, he didn't, but that didn't stop Malik from frowning. He knew Bakura was a spirit bound to this world by something, and when that something wasn't present anymore...

 

For some reason, he didn't want to think about that.

 

“It just seems...” Malik's words were uncertain on his tongue. “Is that what you really want?”

 

Bakura's grin died, an irritated sneer taking its place. “Holy shit, I thought we were drinking, not playing twenty questions.”  
  
“Seems like a way to pass the time.” Why did Malik's words sound so bitter? He himself couldn't understand it. Bakura stared at him for a long while, and then tilted his head up with a snort.  
  
“Trust me, Ishtar, there are some thing's you're better off not knowing.”

 

A heavy silence fell between them, one that didn't sit well with either of them. Bakura seemed to realize he was gripping the neck of the bottle so tightly it might have shattered if Ryou was a little stronger. He passed it back to Malik, not looking at him. Somehow, the air seemed sullied.

 

Malik took another drink. “If I were a God....” He began, lifting the weight off of the conversation again with his drunken words. “I bet I could snatch you from the darkness.”

 

Bakura rolled his eyes. “You've sent me to the darkness before, idiot.”

 

“Well, this time I could bring you back.”

 

They were speaking in hypotheticals, both smashed out of their minds, but Bakura still threw him a strange look. “Why would you want to?”

 

“Because I'm a God and I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Malik answered as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “You said it yourself. People are boring. Most people.”  
  
The smirk found its way back to Bakura's face. “This your roundabout way of saying you enjoy my company?”

 

“You're not 'most people'.”

 

“Okay, I think you've had enough. Lemme get that for you.” Bakura crawled over to snatch the bottle back before retreating. He glanced up at the stars again, but Malik didn't follow his gaze. “Never thought I'd see the day where Malik Ishtar said I was on the same level as a God.”

 

Malik felt something stir in his chest, the air feeling charged with something unexplainable. And then he was leaning in without realizing it, grin echoing Bakura's. “What do you think, eh? Two Gods scorning the stars...”

 

There was a clink as Bakura set the bottle to the side. He leaned closer in return, as if to challenge him. His eyes showed that he was impressed, however, and Malik's chest thrummed with pride.

 

“I'll hand it to you, you've got interesting ideas.”

 

...

 

Bakura hissed and snarled as their lips met again and again, walking the line between unresponsive and defensive. Malik would tilt his head, press more firmly with his mouth until Bakura’s shoulders relaxed. And then he’d reach a hand up to cup his pale cheek and it was like undoing his previous efforts. A tense, pale hands pressing against his shoulders like they wanted to shove, teeth bared in warning.

 

It felt, rather ridiculously, like trying to coax an animal out of hiding.

 

The most frustrating part was that he never voiced he wanted Malik to stop, or pulled away, or hit him. No, it was more like he was holding back for whatever reason.

 

Malik was the one to pull back, huffing his frustration through his nose.

 

“It’s a kiss, Bakura, not pulling teeth.”

 

Bakura glared at something off to the side like the stubborn bastard he was. “May as well be.”

 

Malik could have throttled him right there. He was sure, out of all the things they'd done in the past, kissing was not of their most offensive crimes. What did Bakura want from him? “You’ve never complained before.”

 

“Seems different now.”

 

The words were muttered, a vague tone of resignition within them. He wasn't wrong, Malik realized. Kissing or touching, grinding until they were panting into each other's mouths – it was nothing compared to how charged the air felt right now. Indulgence hardly compared to the odd tension that had built up, crept up on them without their knowledge in the time they'd wasted. It was warm and dizzying, swirling between them like a high – but when it fell it settled like dead weight, promising something more ambiguous and uncertain.

 

And it soon dawned on Malik that it was because this never could have worked. Whatever they had was nothing more than temporary. Maybe it was idiotic to carry on like this. Maybe they should have kept their distance.

 

Bakura nearly started when a hand grabbed his chin, forcing their mouths together again, rougher and more unrestrained this time. A groan bled between them as he sunk into something more along the lines of what they were used to.

 

Idiotic or not, Malik had never been one to deny himself.

 

Whatever this was, he wanted it until it ended.

...

 

Malik awoke to gasping, the sound choked and panicked. It was accompanied by something thumping against his side, twisting and fighting like an animal caught in a trap.

 

He jerked up to see Bakura thrashing about on the bed, the noises pouring out of him hitching in volume. Malik's eyes widened. He hadn't remembered falling asleep. More importantly, he hadn't expected Bakura to still be here when he woke up. The first lights of dawn were appearing through the window, bathing the room in a deep blue.

 

“Hey!” He hissed, having to keep his voice down, frantic with trying to make sure Bakura kept his down as well. “Calm down, Bakura, it's me.”

 

When had Bakura fallen asleep? For some reason, he never even thought the spirit was capable, but here Bakura was, caught in some nightmare or another. Malik felt a resonating pang in his chest, all too familiar with the experience.

 

“Bakura...?” He tried again. The other man had stopped struggling against invisible phantoms, but his breathing remained fast and ragged. Malik had his hands pressed to Bakura's shoulders, rubbing them out of some subconscious need to comfort. He'd _never_ seen Bakura like this, and it unnerved him greatly.

 

“What is it?” He spoke much softer now. Bakura's cheeks were glistening, and he tried to hide it by scrubbing away the tears, but it was too late. Malik had seen everything.

 

“Nothing.” Bakura's voice was brittle, his jaw clenched to the point it looked painful.

 

“You’re crying. That’s not nothing.”

 

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” Bakura turned his head away, hair falling over his eyes. “If I sleep, I dream.”

 

Malik shook his head. If Bakura thought he could brush him off that easily, he was dead wrong. “That wasn't any regular dream.” He knew. He knew better than anyone else what kind of terror could seize a person in the middle of the night. “You can tell me.”

 

Bakura was stubborn, but Malik expected nothing less at this point. Bakura's teeth were bared, eyes locked on the far wall. “Just a nightmare then. Old wounds.”

 

Malik's hands slipped from his shoulders to his face, forcing Bakura to look at him again. “You've seen my scars. Show me yours.”

...

 

Malik sat on the edge of his bed, staring at a spot in the distance through the window. It was mid afternoon and the rest of the day still remained.

 

Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea to bring Bakura here, but the spirit had promised he'd be quiet (even if said promise was accompanied by a sly flash if teeth.)

 

Now the air felt too quiet, too still. There was no weight sinking beside him on the bed. No thump of Bakura idly bouncing something off of the wall, just to grate Malik's nerves. It was as if time itself had stagnated.

 

He'd asked Bakura once, when they were passing the time, what had kept him from breaking their partnership. Nothing had been forcing him to help Malik back in Battle City. He could have easily sided with the darker half, or taken him on by himself. Malik had never proven to be reliable.

 

Bakura's answer had been interesting.

 

“Pissed me off,” he'd said. He'd been scrawling on a piece of paper and didn't look up. A little figure clothed in a crimson robe. Malik had never seen him draw before. Bits of Bakura's personality were revealing themselves more and more every day. “What the Pharaoh had done to you.”

 

It was odd thinking about it. An ancient spirit, thousands of years dead, hearing him out in his darkest hour. Throwing aside his own purpose, the reason he was still kicking while his remains crumbled to dust – to risk his neck, for Malik's sake.

 

Because it _pissed him off_.

 

“Malik?”

 

Isis's voice jerked him from his thoughts. He glanced over to see her standing in the doorway.

 

“Could I speak with you for a moment?”

 

He stifled a sigh, fully prepared for another one of his sister's attempts to get him to be social, or involved, or whatever it was she was after this time. “What is it?”

 

“It's about the digsite in Dier el-Medina.”

 

That made Malik's brows climb up his forehead. Kul Elna. Bakura's village. His hands tightened in his lap for a moment. Isis continued on.

 

“There's an excavation going on, and one of the sponsors is KaibaCorp. They're attempting to recover the Millennium Items.”

 

The knowledge of the Millennium Items being dug up didn't surprise him nearly as much as knowing who was after them. Malik's eyes narrowed.

 

“Why does Kaiba suddenly care about the Millennium Items?”

 

“I can't say.” Isis shook her head. She didn't know either? Interesting. “The Items no longer possess any power as far as we know, so the excavation has been approved. I was just wondering if you–”

 

“No.” Malik's jaw tightened and he glanced away. “I don't want anything to do with it.” He was done with being a tombkeeper, and what happened to the Items wasn't any of his business anymore. “I can't believe you would want anything to do with it, sister.”

 

Isis was clearly witholding a sigh. “Regardless, it's still in your jurisdiction to know, so I thought I'd tell you.”

 

“You could have just told Rishid.” After all, Rishid was more involved with the tombkeepers that had relocated to the surface than Malik was. He was the real leader, while Malik was content with being a figurehead.

 

And there it was again. Isis gave him that look he hated so much to see from his siblings.

 

“I have.”

 

...

 

“You're an idiot if you think I'll help you with that!”

 

Bakura grunted as he was abruptly shoved back, turning and righting himself with a bewildered glare on his face. The sky had been seized by another rare bout of rain, making his white hair cling to his face. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm, but his tone held a defensive edge.

 

“Why do you look so surprised? You must have known. Why else would I be gathering the Items?”

 

Malik couldn't believe what he was hearing. More so, he couldn't believe how nonchalant Bakura was being about the fate of the entire world – nonchalant enough to let his destructive plans slip. Malik had known he was after power, but he never imagined it would involve reviving the actual Zorc Necrophades.

 

“You're full of shit!” He shot back, voice filling up the alleyway. Funny how they found themselves in a place like this again. “What do you hope to gain by destroying everything?”

 

The silence was worse than Bakura yelling back at him. There was a chilling shift taking place within Bakura, any warmth Malik had come to have known in the few short weeks they'd enjoyed each other's company melting away. Gone. The expression left behind was as cold and dead and vindictive as it had ever been.

 

“I don't hope to gain, I hope to take away.” Bakura answered cuttingly. “The Pharaoh's spirit. His salvation. His entire fucking existence. And the rest of the world? It's just collateral.”

 

Malik felt the breath leave him, a disbelieving sting welling up in its place. One that settled in his lungs and burned like catching embers.

 

Just collateral.

 

It meant nothing.

 

He meant nothing.

 

“I just started living in this world.” Malik drew out between his teeth, starting low but climbing in volume. “All of what I've worked to obtain is 'just collateral' to you? Am I 'just collateral'!?”

 

Bakura grimaced.

 

“Yes.”

 

If it weren't for the one waver in his countenance or the flicker of hesitation in his voice, Malik might have believed him.

 

But he didn't have time to ponder it – he never had time – because Bakura was advancing on him, anger ringing high in his voice. Bakura stabbed a finger in his direction.

 

“Let me get one thing straight, Ishtar.” He snarled. “The world has done nothing for me, and nothing for my people. It never had to be like this, but the dynasty that wrought me – that wrought you as well – it brought this on itself. Clearly it gave less of a shit about the world than _I_ do.”

 

Each word stoked the fire in Malik's chest, the pain indistinguishable from the anger.

 

“It doesn't have to be like this, Bakura! You can stop, you can find some other way to–”

 

Malik felt the heat of the Ring before an unseen force launched him back. He was able to twist his body before slamming against the ground, his side taking the hit instead of his back. His skin scraped along the concrete.

 

“Fuck you!” Bakura was yelling as he stood over his body. “I thought you, of all people, would have understood!”

 

Malik grit his teeth, not caring about the ache running through him, or the long scrape up his arm beginning to leak blood. He jumped back to his feet, and not even the Ring could save Bakura as he was grabbed and slammed against the brick wall.

 

Malik screamed in his face, hoping he'd get it. Praying he'd get it. _“Nothing – justifies – this!”_

 

Bakura's eyes were wild. He stood there, frozen, and then he began to thrash. “Get off of me!”

 

Malik pulled him back only to slam him against the wall again, causing Bakura to grunt. A flash of golden light later, Bakura had managed to free himself, shoving Malik away from him. He stood hunched, coiled like a frightened animal about to strike.

 

“What will you do? Kill me?” Malik's eyes blazed, fists clenched at his sides. He was soaking wet and the cold should have reached him, but it didn't. “Do it then! Let's see who's spineless!”

 

Bakura looked like he might have. The Ring hummed, and it would have been so easy to tear Malik apart right there, but neither of them moved. And then Bakura turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows. Gone, just like that.

 

It took all of three seconds for Malik to crumble. His teeth clenched, fist driving into the wall as a cry of frustration escaped him. What the hell was he expecting from Bakura? What they had was only ever temporary because he'd never change. His revenge always took priority, but perhaps Malik had deluded himself into thinking his company maybe – maybe – had a chance of counterbalancing the weight of grief in Bakura's soul.

 

It was a losing battle from the beginning.

 

Malik had never been more aware of it than now. He scarcely felt the ache in his knuckles as his hand fell to his side, didn't feel the rain washing down his skin and collecting beneath him. Felt nothing. Even the alley slipped away, the sky, the city, all of it white noise.

 

Was there truly nothing he could do?

 

...

 

There is something maddening about mundanity. Even after settling into peace – could it be called peace if it was disrupted so easily? – Malik found himself all too willing to slink into the building unseen, unnoticed.

 

Old habits died hard. Perhaps even harder than this loose end refusing to grant him rest.

 

He'd been planning on moving to Domino anyway. The location was nice, even if a bit uncanny. The added push that had sealed the deal was the news from Isis.

 

Kaiba had disappeared. One day he simply wasn't there anymore and his little brother had taken his place as the CEO. Mokuba was shockingly quiet about the whole matter, and the company's flow didn't seem to be disrupted at all. Still, something rubbed Malik the wrong way about it, especially with the knowledge that Kaiba had been after the Millennium Items.

 

People didn't just _disappear_.

 

Malik's eyes scanned across the computer screen, searching for any records, any clues as to Kaiba's whereabouts. The man's desk had proved to be fruitless, and his cabinets as well. He clicked his tongue, fingers sweeping across the keyboard one more time when the lights abruptly flicked on. He winced, glancing up to see a familiar face in the doorway.

 

“Malik?!” Mokuba had definitely grown since he'd last seen him, wearing a suit much more befitting of his elder brother. “What are you doing here?”

 

Unfortunately for Malik, Mokuba was already reaching for something on his suit.

 

“Wait!” Malik started and reached a hand out. For whatever reason, Mokuba paused, eyes fixed on him, demanding an explanation. “I'm just looking for Kaiba. That's it.”

 

A dry smirk spread across Mokuba's face. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Sorry, but you won't find him here.”

“It's true then? He just... vanished?”

 

“Not exactly,” Mokuba looked uncomfortable, causing Malik's eyes to narrow in interest. He always knew it was never that simple. “My brother never did give up on his rivalry with Yugi.” Mokuba paused to correct himself. “Well, not Yugi I guess. The other Yugi – Atem.”

 

“What happened to him?” Malik pressed. Mokuba looked like he wanted to give a sad laugh.

 

“He's dead. He went to the same place as Atem.” He shook his head, bags clearly visible beneath his eyes. It must have been hard on the young teen to run such a powerful company by himself. “Get out before I call security.”

 

Malik made no move to leave but he did circle the desk so he could stand directly in front of the boy. He wasn't going anywhere until he got proper answers. This was the best lead he'd had in months. “What do you mean he's dead? He killed himself?”

 

Mokuba raised his head to fix him with an odd look. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

 

“I know KaibaCorp was recovering the Millennium Items at the dig site in Deir el-Medina. As the leader of the tombkeepers, it is my business what happens to the Millennium Items.” Funny how he'd sworn he wanted nothing to do with it, but that was before it served a purpose to him. Malik placed a confident hand on his hip, eyes glowing with promise. “Was he looking for a way to reach Atem again?”

 

“Yes, he was. And he found it, but not because of the Items.”

 

Malik's eyes widened a fraction. Kaiba had crossed between dimensions after all.

 

But how had he done it?

 

Mokuba sighed as he continued, looking tired and like he wanted Malik out of his hair more than anything. “Look, I can tell you what I know, but I don't really see the point. Seto took the cube with him when he went to the afterlife.”

 

The cube? What was Mokuba going on about? “That doesn't matter. I'll take any information you have.”

 

The youngest Kaiba brother shrugged. “Whatever... Just don't break in here again.”

 

...

 

It was months and months later, a slow and painful crawl, when any news surfaced. Until then, Malik lived because there was nothing else he could do. Mokuba had told him his brother had promised he'd return, but even he didn't know when or how. So Malik enjoyed the sunlight, worked on his bikes, and made attempts to socialize as per Isis' request even if they weren't very successful. People bored him, but he could stomach living, even if his wounds would never heal, even if a loose end still pulled at the back of his mind.

 

And then, as if no time had passed, Kaiba was back. Malik's action was immediate. He didn't wait to request an audience with the CEO; he was in his office the very same day. Seto didn't even look surprised to see him. But then again, Malik supposed not much would surprise him after he'd done the impossible.

 

“Malik Ishtar,” Seto stated coolly, arms crossed with the window at his back. One would have thought he never disappeared, like crossing between dimensions was so casual. “Never thought I'd see you again after you crashed my tournament. Shouldn't you be off in Egypt busy with your new life?”

 

Malik didn't miss the cutting edge in his tone and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was he really still sore about that?

 

“Egypt is a prison of the past. Not exactly something I want to surround myself with. Surely you'd understand?” Malik flashed a smirk, but it quickly evaporated off of his face, what little interest he had in bantering with Seto trickling away like sand. “Look, I'm not in the mood to dance around the obvious. Let's cut to the chase.”

 

He stepped forward, raising his head to fix the other man with a hardened look. “I know you travelled to the afterlife.”  
  
Seto almost looked amused. “Is that what you're interested in?”

 

“How did you cross over?”  
  
Seto snorted, not answering Malik right away. Instead, he took his time pacing over to his chair. The more seconds ticked past, the more Malik's fingers dug into his palms. The answer to everything lay within reach, and Seto dangled it before his face like a piece of meat.

 

“I don't see why I should give you the time of day explaining the process, but if it gets you out of my hair faster, I'll tell you. I know what lengths you'll go to to get what you want.” The leather creaked as Seto leaned back, arms resting on either side of his chair. “I'd been trying to find a way to duel Atem for quite some time. Certain events allowed me to obtain the key to make that a reality.”

 

Of course Malik had known of Seto's motivations, but that didn't make them any less ridiculous. If anything, they seemed more unbelievable every time he heard of the CEO's endeavours.

 

But that wasn't important right now.

 

“Key...?” He nodded in thought. “And did you reach Atem?”  
  
A little smirk tugged at the corner of Seto's lips, like it was a secret between him and the Pharaoh. “Let's just say we caught up.”  
  
“Is there a way to bring someone back?”

 

“I've transcended the barrier between life and death. I would assume if the living can go there, the dead can come back,” Seto all but scoffed, like Malik had doubted his abilities. And then he cast a knowing look his way. “It sounds like you have unfinished business.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as his elbows rested on the desk. “But, fair warning, convincing someone to return from the fields isn't an easy task.”

 

Malik's jaw set. “The person I'm looking for isn't in the fields.”

 

“Is that so?” Seto hummed in consideration, tilting his head. “How can you be sure?”

 

That was just it, wasn't it? Malik couldn't be sure, even if he considered it unlikely that Bakura was in A'aru. Perhaps he'd merely be disturbing his former partner's rest. Perhaps Bakura was already with his family.

 

But regardless, Malik had to try. Even if it was more trouble for himself and Bakura didn't want to see him. Even if he was treading in a place he wasn't meant to be. Even if he could only speak to Bakura one more time. Things couldn't be left on an uncertain note. This was as much for himself as it was for Bakura.

 

Malik crossed over to the desk, palms supporting his weight as he leaned over the wood.

 

“I need a favour.”

...

 

The darkness had its talons lodged so deeply into Bakura it was a wonder there was anything left of him. Malik hadn't expected that he would look different from Ryou's likeness, but the thief before him was from a time long since past, another life Malik had only known of through stories.

 

Bakura's form was limp, like he'd given up struggling a long time ago. Was there any struggle to begin with? There was something defeated and resigned in the way he hung there, and – Malik thinks – self inflicted. This was what Bakura had been enduring all this time. Would the shadows have consumed him completely if Malik had taken a bit longer to reach him?

 

Malik didn't falter, stepping out of the light and into the world of death. It wasn't the time or place for weakness and regrets. The darkness immediately pressed in from all sides, like fingers scrabbling for their next meal. Malik didn't pay it any mind, however. He had a purpose. He'd wielded powers beyond his understanding. He'd defied Gods and lived, pried his fate from the depths of oblivion. A few shadows weren't going to get in his way.

 

And now he was going to pry another's destiny from their greedy jaws.

 

“You'd be surprised what a little bribery at KaibaCorp will get you.” His voice sounded infinite, reaching out into the realm and finally causing the form of the thief to stir. Bakura's eyes were pale instead of dark, hollow and dead to the world like he'd turned to stone. Yet, when they focused on Malik, a dim flicker of recognition came to life within them.

 

“You shouldn't be here.” It was whispered and frail, but it carried a stubborn edge that was hard to miss, assuring Malik that he had the right man. The sound of his voice caused a smirk to pull across Malik's face, despite himself. Bakura was truly more trouble than he was worth, and perhaps he should have been angry after everything, but there would be time for that later.

 

 

“Why? I told you I'd come for you, dumbass. So don't give me that mopey bullshit.”

 

 

 

Malik drew closer, able to see where the darkness had punched holes into the other man's body. It brought forth a shudder, remembering the sensations all too clearly when he'd been eaten away by the shadows, but he couldn't waver now. He bent down, and the light seemed to touch Bakura, washing away the inky black and restoring his form.

 

“Come on...”

 

It was a one handed task reaching out to seize the front of Bakura's robes and pulling him from the shadow's hold, the cube shifting uneasily in his other hand. Its pale orange glow began to brighten as the darkness melted around them, dissolving as it was left behind.

 

“Let's go home.”

 


End file.
